


Slow Decay

by melonbutterfly



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Drabble, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-15
Updated: 2009-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trail of thoughts, concerning life, death and being alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Decay

Sometimes, all Patrick wants is to die.

And he's serious about it; apart from the fact that he really, really wants to catch the bastard that took his life from him, there isn't much that is keeping him here.

He's not depressed or anything. No, not at all; he is quite able to enjoy the little things in life; a nice cup of tea, a tasty piece of chocolate cake, stepping on people's toes with observations that baffle them in their accuracy. He enjoys all of those things, and more.

But there are also things he doesn't enjoy, like coming back to his empty home, empty house full of memories and deafening silence. Like slipping underneath a cold blanket, waking up to a wet morning and for just a second wondering why he should get up. But he, of course, always knows why. He never forgets, can never let go. There isn't a day in his life he doesn't think about it, about the person who murdered everything, everyone he had and what he's going to do to him when he finally catches him.

Sometimes, he wishes he could be like other people who have lost someone; he has heard they sometimes forget they are alone. They wake up and for just a moment think that everything is alright, their loved ones are still alive, still there with them. He would give anything for a moment like that, never mind the pain afterwards that would be all the more crushing.

But such a thing wasn't granted to him. They were gone, and he knew that. There was a pain inside of him that constantly kept it deeply embedded in his conscious; that they were gone, that he was alone. When he was bantering with Lisbon he knew it; when he was exploring a new case, somebody's home he knew it; when he was egging on Grace he knew it.

And he was going to make the person responsible for that pay. And then… he might as well die, for he sure as hell wasn't alive anyway.


End file.
